


Drown your Sorrows

by Blankdice



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 05:58:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3436028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blankdice/pseuds/Blankdice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ethan needs a little bit of distraction and finds himself in the same bar as Dorian Gray, who just loves to be of service.</p>
<p>This is mostly PwP set after the first season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drown your Sorrows

London was terrible.

Everything was drab and grey, the streets old and crooked. The place was oppressive, with deep fogs that tasted of coal dust. It was nothing like the empty plains of North America, where the towns were often so new they still smelled of sawdust. Well, horse shit too, but you can't have everything.

Sure, the cities back home were plenty dirty, filled with machine smoke and people. But the streets were long and wide, pointing out towards the wilderness. Here, the city wrapped around one like a shroud, clammy arms around the throat and rickety houses leaning in overhead.

Trying to get a good drink was a nightmare. The cheap joints were easy enough to find, sometimes several per block, but they were filthy, and filled with filth. These were people who stayed in the same place their whole lives, who lived out their miserable lives in the routine of work and pub and who finally died in the same pile of vomit and piss that passed for beer. They even smelled of death, which was torture in itself.

The fancier places, well. A man needed the right connections or a bag of money or both, and if they let you in you had to navigate a labyrinth of etiquette that was as old as the city, and just as baffling.

It was with some surprise when Ethan found himself allowed into a place somewhere in between. It was definitely not cheap; the place had velvet and mirrors on the walls where they were not covered with a dizzying array of bottles. He had tried the door on a whim, recognising it from that odd night when he had let Gray take him out on the town. The bouncer looked him over, but did not interfere when he stepped through the stuffy hallway and into the bar proper. Perhaps he remembered his face, associated it with the boy who could open just about every door in London. Perhaps his clothes were nice enough to pass inspection. Or maybe Ethan had just been walking confidently enough to pass some unknown test of etiquette.

He set himself down at the bar. The whole place was one large room, and was quite dim. There was some gambling at the scattered tables, and a general sound of human noise ebbed around him.

“Anything I can get you, sir?” the bartender asked, drifting in his direction with the ubiquitous damp rag in hand.

“Whiskey,” said Ethan. He looked over the back wall, where bottles were displayed decoratively against an array of mirrors. He couldn't help but notice that the bartender pulled his drink from some shady place under the bar, not from the wall and he wondered if it was all show. The bottles looked full, but who's to say it wasn't water? It was a dark room, after all.

He caught sight of a green bottle. The label was hard to make out in the gloom, but it looked familiar enough for Ethan to identify it as absinthe. He huffed a quiet disapproval to himself and raised a hand at the bartender, who kindly left the bottle.

He was already having an inattentive kind of night before he started drinking and it took him a moment to realise why that bottle made him want to empty the bar of whiskey altogether. He'd only drank absinthe once, with the same Dorian Gray whose escapades lead him to this bar. That was the night he spent with the man, after fighting with Brona.

And that was where the need for a stiff drink arose. He drained his glass and topped himself up, trying very hard not to think of her unbreathing body laid out on blood-stained sheets. Sadly, this made it all the harder not to think of her and before he knew it his glass was empty again.

That was the main thing he did enjoy about London, the people. Not all of them were pleasant, but that was people for you. Brona had been better than most, and so was Victor, in his opinion. Even poor possessed Vanessa, while sometimes cold, had only ever been kind to him when she could help it.

And now Brona lay dead somewhere in the cold British soil, only Victor knew where. It was almost too much to take, enough to make a grown man cry. He had been crying, there was no shame in admitting it, but now it was time for something else. A little rehydration, and perhaps some forgetting, even if only for one night.

A hand landed on the counter next to Ethan's glass.

“What are you drinking, my friend?” someone asked, and Ethan looked up to inform this stranger that he was not their friend, only to look into the flawless, boyish face of Dorian Gray. He'd never seen the man with as much as a bruise or a single hair out of place. Even after sex, he could best be described as “artfully tousled”.

Ethan was already in a dark mood, and Dorian's easy smile, as if there was nothing but light and loveliness in the world, annoyed him. “What business is it of yours?” he said. If the little brat wanted to know what he was drinking so badly, the bottle was right there.

Apparently Dorian took this as an invitation. He didn't even bother to wait for the bartender to supply a second glass, choosing instead to take Ethan's from his fingers. “I prefer absinthe, myself,” he said, helping himself. “Whiskey may get me drunk but it's never given me hallucinations”

Ethan snatched his glass back. “If you like it so much, who don't you get some.” He added, glass halfway to his mouth: “Instead of stealing mine.”

“It bores me.” Dorian Gray leaned on the counter, posture relaxed but eyes alert. “Just like whiskey does.”

“Well, why on earth are you stealing mine, then?” Ethan snarled. He set his glass on the counter with a thunk.

Dorian simply shrugged. “You don't bore me.”

“Am I some toy for you to play with? Something new and shiny to keep you occupied until the novelty wears off?”

The man smirked. It was definitely not a smile, that implied benevolent kindness. This was a widening of the mouth into a grimace like a serpent's, full of hunger and sardonic amusement. “Vanessa said you worked as a sideshow act,” he said, fingering the glass Ethan was holding. “Surely you are used to being the shiny new thing in town?”

“To hell with you,” said Ethan.

“In due time, perhaps,” Dorian replied. “But not if I can help it. So, are you up for a little entertainment? Something new and exciting, perhaps.”

Ethan threw the remains of his drink at Dorian.

In between Dorian's hysterical laughter and the bartender's mumbling as he brought over a clean cloth, he nonetheless considered it. He ignored the bartender glaring at him, and the gentleman at the closest table snickering at the spectacle, and focused on Dorian.

The man was stupidly handsome, which undoubtedly explained his popularity with all sorts of lovers. It certainly wasn't because of his personality. That was not quite as spotless as his features, Dorian Gray had proven himself to be rather petty and petulant, and as egocentric as one could be without spending all day looking at one's own reflection. He would make a fine Narcissus, if he wasn't so intent on using that glorious body for all sorts of pleasure, with hardly a thought for the consequences. Even Ethan, who did not know him all that well, could see this much.

But to Dorian's credit, he was good at what he did, even if what he did was mostly decadent and inappropriate for polite conversation. Given the topic of the conversation, this was a good thing. Ethan always considered the art of sex was all the better if describing the details of a certain act in polite company was socially unacceptable. A kiss on the cheek was well and good, but a good fucking around the back of the wagon until someone's legs gave out was so much better.

Besides, Ethan's subconscious handily supplied, Dorian was not a woman. A little effeminate he may be, but definitely not female. Therefor, he was unlikely to remind him too much of Brona as they fucked.

And thus, despite throwing a drink at the man, Ethan ended up following him out of the bar.

 

* * *

 

Dorian Gray's place was much as Ethan remembered it. It was large, but seemed smaller by virtue of being crammed full with things of all sorts. The paintings were especially noticable, and covered almost all the walls. There were some bookcases, not all containing books. Lushly upholstered chairs sat around tables stacked with odds and ends. Ethan dropped his coat on one of those tables, heedless of the satin flower it covered. His mind was not on his surroundings.

He kissed Dorian, grabbing the sides of the man's head. It was clumsy, and a little desperate. His lips landed on Dorian's cheek at first and he had to loosen his grip so their mouths could find each other. The man was irritatingly freshly shaved, smooth against his lips. Ethan kissed harder, taking his anger out in rough kisses. A wilder part of him clamoured for a turn in the spotlight and Ethan hesitated. His breath hitched as his mind was filled with an eternity of snow and summer forests and chasing, hunting, blood drenching joyously, for just a split second.

It was long enough for Dorian to notice. “Having second thoughts?” he said.

“You are so smug,” Ethan answered. He looked at Dorian's smiling face, with not a care in the world, leaned forward, and bit his lip, appeasing the beast with mock violence. He was almost surprised when Dorian gasped with pleasure. His lips trailed to the man's neck and he murmured against the skin: “Do you like pain? You're a sick fuck.”

“Oh yes,” Dorian said, voice low and full of tension. He tilted his head back and wrapped his arms around Ethan's shoulders. “Yes, I really am.”

Ethan glanced at the bedroom, the door flung wide open. No. He pushed Dorian down onto the floor and undid his vest. The buttons came easily, unlike the buttons on his dress shirt, which were small and delicate and might as well have been sewn in place.

Dorian looked up and smiled. Even on the thick carpet he could not be comfortable with the full bulk of Ethan resting on his legs, but he managed to make it look seductive when he slid his hands along his chest, back arching ever so slightly. Ethan watched his fingers, rings shining as he popped the buttons open one by one.

“Do you have to wriggle so much?” he said.

“You've prevented me from pushing a leg between your thighs,” said Dorian, propping himself up to free his arms from the confines of clothing. “I find myself forced to consider other options.”

Ethan caught his head and pressed another kiss to his lips. “So you're acting like a snake instead?”

This drew an amused look from Dorian. “I have been called that. Aren't you going to take off yours?”

“I can guess why.” Ethan leaned forward, pressing Dorian to the floor again. “Who called you that? And no.”

Dorian made a great show of pouting. This was quickly solved when Ethan loosened his trousers and thrust a hand under the waistband. He was not inclined to stand up and relinquish control, so after a minute of fondling he shimmied those trousers down, effectively tying Dorian's legs together.

“Come on,” Dorian said, a little breathless and flushed. “Let me at you. What would you have me do, pleasure myself while you sit on top of me, fully clothed?”

Ethan considered this for a moment. He raised himself to his knees and pulled one of Dorian's hands close to his crotch. “You have a valid point. Would you like to tend to the problem?”

With a chuckle, Dorian unbuttoned his trousers. “Hello there,” he said, face level with Ethan's cock. “It's been so long.”

“Are you a snake or a snake charmer?” Ethan asked. “I've seen those in the freak shows. They can make snakes dance.”

Dorian answered with a kiss to his cock, almost chaste if not for the place of delivery. “I am both,” he said, and flicked his tongue out like a snake. “They do say that it takes one to know one.”

He certainly had the required flexibility, holding himself up with one hand while the other stroked at Ethan, his mouth pressing increasingly wet kisses to his shaft. Ethan sighed. “You're saying you're a cock, then?”

Dorian snorted, and Ethan was unsure whether the sound was indignant or amused. “I suppose I have the 'know one' part of the saying down.”

“That's a yes, then,” Ethan managed. His knees were feeling a little weak so with great regret he pushed Dorian away and stumbled in a roughly upright position to discard his trousers and shoes. Still decent from the waist up, he looked down on Dorian, who was naked on the floor, his erection nestled peacefully in a bed of course blond curls.

Dorian flicked his tongue out, wetting his lips. He still managed to look close to serious, the courteous host despite his state of undress, as he patted his thighs with both hands and said: “Will you have a seat? A cup of tea, or perhaps something stronger?”

“You would have me sit in your lap?”

“It's the best seat in the house.” Dorian smiled. “You liked it last time, didn't you?”

Ethan crossed his arms. “Last time you made sure I was comfortable. I'm not just sitting on it,” he freed a hand, gestured in an abrupt downward motion, “just like that. I'm not the one who enjoys pain.”

“Oh, fine,” said Dorian, throwing his head back. “Fetch me the little pink bottle from my nightstand.”

It was odd to walk around without his trousers on. In normal circumstances his shirt would hang low enough to offer some illusion of being covered up, but despite the breeze, his cock was persistently hard and peeking past the edges like a nervous actor on a stage. He quelled the urge to toss the flask at Dorian's face, sitting down on his legs instead and handing it over with a politeness the man did not deserve.

“Thank you kindly,” Dorian said and unscrewed the top. He kept his eyes on Ethan as he slathered himself in sweet-smelling oil. It was almost hypnotic, green eyes staring him in the face as his hand stroked up and down his cock. “Do you like that?” he said idly.

Ethan had to scrape his throat before he could talk. “Like what?”

“Watching me like this.” Dorian reached an oil-slick hand out to Ethan, teased him with just one finger. “I think you do.”

“You're a prick,” Ethan said. He paused. “Do I smell peaches?”

“It's the oil.” Dorian reached over and closed his hands around Ethan's legs. Despite the slipperiness, he managed to encourage him forward until their cocks were rubbing together.

Ethan found himself slapping Dorian's hand away when the man tried to snake his arms around him and his hands onto Ethan's ass. “I'm getting impatient,” he said. Without thinking too much, he grabbed Dorian and simply sat down. It was really quite easy, a matter of aiming at the right spot. Like last time it felt odd, more than anything, for a moment. Like there was something there which shouldn't be, a strange intruder.

Dorian ran a thumb along his cheek. “You're frowning. You should let me finger you next time.”

“Next time.” Ethan raised an eyebrow. “You seem so sure.”

“You came back once,” said Dorian. The smile was gone for now, replaced by a slightly absent look, desire clouding over his eyes. He sighed and reached his un-oiled hand to his own chest to pinch himself.

“Don't be so sure I'll be back another time.” Ethan shifted, testing his position in Dorian's lap. The strangeness was, while not gone, being crowded to the background by the pleasant sensations of warmth, fullness. He could feel Dorian inside him, undeniably alive. He sank through his knees a fraction further, forcing himself a little lower.

Dorian watched him press down and said: “I can fuck you, if you want. Bend you over, say,” he pointed at an expensive looking carved desk, “that.”

“No,” said Ethan, scowling. “We'll do this my way.”

“God, you're so tight-arsed,” Dorian said. “But thankfully, not too much.”

Ethan kissed Dorian, to make him shut up. His position on top left him free to set the pace, grinding into Dorian or lifting himself high before dropping back down. There was no sudden explosion of pleasure, but a slow building of pleasant feelings. Dorian's body under him, his cock pressing inside him. The friction between them and now and then his hands on his body, still oily and slick, giving him something to thrust into as much as he could.

He didn't remember which of them came first, only that there was some mutual fumbling and Dorian was slipping out of him with misaimed thrusts. Then he was inside him again, and his hands were relentlessly pumping Ethan. Finally, there was the unavoidable mess.

Ethan was lying on Dorian's chest, his legs somewhere off on the carpet and tingling. He regretted keeping his shirt on, as it was now in dire need of a wash. “Sorry about the carpet,” he said, too tired to move himself off it.

“I wanted a new one,” said Dorian, using his own discarded shirt to mop himself up.

“And a new shirt?”

Dorian chuckled, taking a clean bit of sleeve and gently wiping down Ethan's stomach, where he had spilled all over himself. “A new everything, I love new things. You could use a new shirt, too.”

“Am I a new thing?” Ethan couldn't help but ask.

“Oh yes,” said Dorian. “New and exciting. I always like doing things I've never done before. Or people. Over and over, until I get tired of it.”

Ethan sighed, batted away Dorian, who was still trying to clean him up. “I'm tired.”

“You can sleep here if you want. I'll even let you have one of my shirts tomorrow.” Dorian grinned and started undoing Ethan's filthy clothes. “I have dozens.”

“Hmm.” He watched as Dorian undressed him. “I've never stayed the night in another man's bed. Or at least not after fucking him.”

Dorian pulled Ethan's arms out of his sleeves. He kissed his shoulder, playing the charming flirt again not a minute after he had exhausted himself. “There's a first time for everything.”


End file.
